Master of the Insane
by KittoOwlette
Summary: There's a kidnapper in Resembool. Though, they don't seem to be after anything particular. When Edward gets involved after Winry is kidnapped, how will this end?


I saw her standing there. I smirked to myself as I saw she was alone. That was her first mistake. I pulled out a simple, friendly composure and turned the steering wheel. It seemed too easy. I cracked open my window, rolled it all the way down and stopped beside the road next to her. She didn't seem like a hooker, but for all I knew she was some random victim.

"You need a ride?" I say in fake southern voice.

She nodded, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her round head. "Thank you. I need to go to the gas station a few miles ahead, can you take me there?"

I smiled. "Yeah, hop in."

She went around the front of the car and opened the passenger door. She got in and clicked on her seat belt. I grinned at her and started the car. "It's Shell, right? Afraid I don't come down here a lot," I said.

"Yeah," she said, adjusting her seat belt a little.

"Awesome. Mind if I take a different way? The roads are a bit icy up there," I asked her.

She eyed me warily before answering. When she did, my heart hammered. I knew it was almost time to act. "Sure, just don't make it too long, please. I've got to meet up with my boyfriend, and he expects me to be there."

She sounded as if she was trying to get a mugger to back off. That won't work on me. I just smiled and nodded. God, did I hate smiling so much. It was starting to annoy me. And this accent was giving me nausea. I gripped the steering wheel harder.

"So, what's your name?" I asked, turning off the main road and into a side road that lead around the gas station, but if I took a right a few blocks ahead it would take me to the gas station. And if I turned left, it'd get more and more interesting.

"My name is Winry. What's yours?" she turned slightly in her seat to look at me.

I just laughed like a good chum. "I'm Akat."

"Do you live in town?"

"Yeah, out in the country actually. I find it nice there."

"Huh, I live somewhat out there too."

I laughed again. "Why don't we meet up some time?"

But that would never happen. I had silently pulled out the syringe from the crack in between the armrest and the driver's seat. When Winry had adverted her gaze to the window, I stabbed the needle into the side of her neck. She gave me a wild, almost shocked look and then her eyelids slowly pulled down over her dark blue eyes.

"Y-you- you . . . . . "she trailed off- bringing her hand to brush against where the needle had struck her- from whatever she was going to say and slumped onto the window. I smiled.

"Sweet dreams, 'cuz when ya wake up, it'll be a nightmare," I muttered.

I pulled up to the warehouse. It was way, way out of town, so there was no chance of troublesome teens getting in and seeing my 'work'. I smirked to myself as I opened the driver's door and got out. I stretched a few seconds then went over to the other side and pulled Winry out of the passenger's side. I swung her over my shoulder and walked up to the reinforced metal door.

I opened the door and strolled inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. It was a dull looking thing, but there were blood stains all over the place. I tutted to myself, I would have to clean up the fresher ones soon or they would stain. And then I laughed to myself. I'd never clean up the blood of my victims. They stay there and that's how it is.

I set Winry down on an examining table. See, I had gotten this place privately from some old pig farmer. He butchered his animals here, so I had all the equipment needed for my experiments. I had added some cuffs to the table, so my victim would have theirs wrists and ankles shackled to the table. No way of moving and getting free. Don't need the police knowing my 'work' occupation.

I smirked to myself and laughed again. I cuffed her wrists and ankles and sat in my wooden chair by a desk. It had all the pictures and videos of my work over the last four years. I picked up one of my sister. I hadn't killed her, but I always kept her picture here. In fact, I didn't know if she was still alive. After she found out my fetish, she left and promised to never to return, but also that she wouldn't tell a soul about me.

The police were never able to find out who the apparent kidnapper of Resembool was. I carved my sign wherever I had kidnapped someone and into the bodies of my victims. There were barely any signs to where I might be, or who I am. I was never arrested throughout my life, so I had no criminal records. Each car at the kidnapping scenes was different. My mustang was the only one left out. Even tire tracks were replaced, since my dad had owned a car shop, which I now run.

I didn't live here. I live in town. But no one knows that. I lived in my parents' house, but I don't live with them. They're dead, gone. They died two years after Kitto had left. I grabbed my pocket knife from the table and carved into the bloodstained wall behind the desk, 'Kitto lives I know it.'

I heard a moan from behind me. I stiffened and then looked over at the blonde who stirred and look around in a daze. The chair scraped across the floor as I stood and walked over. I placed a hand on the table and stared Winry directly in the eyes. She looked up at my in surprise as I set down the picture of my sister on the tray beside me. She must have glimpsed it, because her face contorted into a confused expression for a split second.

"Just don't make this hard, and it'll end quickly," I said and grabbed a small knife that I guessed was a medical tool.

"Why?" I stopped in my actions and looked up at her.

She didn't seem fazed or scared. Though I thought she was attempting to mask her fear. A slightly buzz of fear was in her eyes. I wasn't one to scare my prey, only to kill it. I'm not a cat. I'm a killer. An artist- or a master of fear, if you'd be so kind to call me as such, I liked to be addressed nicely- even if it's an insane way of doing it.

"Because I don't want a bloody mess, so behave."

She glanced around. "This place doesn't look like you care for a bloody mess."

"Truthfully, I don't. But, because I'm working on a female victim, I tend to be a lot more 'nicer', if you will." I turned the small incision knife in my fingers, feeling the metal slid against my palm tenderly.

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice slightly faltered. I smiled to myself.

"Call it art. Now, I should probably start on the neck and then go down . . . . . "I looked her over and then shook my head. "No, it would be best to make it look natural. Poison, hmm. No . . . . Drug overdosing . . . . . Yeah that'd be good."

I walked over to my desk once more. I opened a drawer, but found no pills. I gnawed on my bottom lip. "Not good . . . . "

"Why do you want to kill me?" Winry asked. I paused.

"I told you; art. Your body will provide me with my own canvas. And I'm not one for ink- well if you call blood an ink than I guess it would be," I told her.

"You know . . . . . You know, there'll be people looking for me," she tried to counter.

"Ah, but when is there not, darling?" I said, walking back over to where she was laying. "When is there not?"

"He's someone important!"

I looked skeptical.

"His name is Edward Elric. Detective Elric! He's the direct go-to man of Roy Mustang."

"Is he now? Hmm, that could be fun. But why tell me this now, darling? I could just kill you and then play cat-and-mouse." I shot her a devious look.

"Because you'll never to do your art on Edward," she said quickly. I stopped in my tracks there.

"Oh? And you're willing to let another person die? Tut, tut, bits devious are me?" I cracked a Cheshire cat grin.

"No, I'm not. I'm just saying; _just wait_ till you meet Edward." And then I turned my back on her, remembering that stupid knowing smile she gave me as I made my way to the garage. I'd let her stay there all night, to hell if she freezes. I had a new game to play.


End file.
